


The Only Way Out is Through

by AetherSeer



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Washington Capitals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 04:28:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11177034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AetherSeer/pseuds/AetherSeer
Summary: The handshake line goes quickly, the loss on home ice devastating. What hurts more than the loss itself is the quiet of the crowd trickling out, and the silence of the core.The loss, the quiet, the disappointment saturating the room is too much.And Nate's just ... tired.





	The Only Way Out is Through

The handshake line goes quickly, the loss on home ice devastating. What hurts more than the loss itself is the quiet of the crowd trickling out, and the silence of the core.

Nate saw Holts’ anger blaze in the angry slam of his stick against the boards before the handshake line, but when he glances back past Kuzy, Holts’ face is carefully neutral. Nate can’t muster up a smile, himself. The loss, the quiet, the _disappointment saturating the room_ is too much.

He follows Orly down the tunnel and into the locker room, the adrenaline rush wearing off and the weariness of playing 11 games in a few short weeks setting in. He strips out of his gear amidst the heavy silence, broken by Kuzy’s angry “Fuck!”

Most of the guys can’t even muster up the energy to do that much, now. Nate’s aware of his role as one of the team’s energy guys, but he just … can’t. Not when Andre’s crying, and Tom’s buried his face in his hands, and Holts is just … staring into space, one pad still on. Holts won’t look at anyone, and that’s fair. They let him down, all of them. Couldn’t even put a puck in the net, for all they tried.

And Nate’s just … tired.

 

Backy rounds them up after they’ve showered. Nate expects some of the married guys to beg off, head home to their wives and kids. But the entire team stays behind, heads to Backy’s in groups of two and three. Nate doesn’t ask why Backy’s house and not Ovi’s.

Liza and the kids aren’t there—there’s a note on the table that Backy tosses in the trash after reading—and the team files into the media room, filling up the couches and spilling over onto the floor. Nate finds himself squished between Andre and Tom, their backs up against one of the couches. He thinks that it’s Carly and Osh cuddled up behind them. Beags has planted himself against the end of the couch opposite Nate’s trio, Eller at his side.

Nate leans into Andre; his shoulder gets suspiciously damp. Tom’s eyes look wet, too, although he keeps rubbing at them.

There’s a quiet hum in the room, the team quietly licking its wounds together. There’s never complete silence in a room full of 20 hockey players, even though no one’s talking. Backy ghosts in and out, bringing blankets and food and bottles of Gatorade and water. Nate cranes his head and spots Ovi going from teammate to teammate with hushed words.

Andre’s still sniffling a little when Ovi makes his way to their spot. Nate’s ass is going numb, and he needs to shake out his hand from where it was falling asleep. He shifts a little, dislodging Tom from where he was listing over onto Nate’s other shoulder.

Ovi’s blue eyes are a little grayer now, a bit reddened. But his gaze is soft, and his hand gentle where it clasps Nate’s shoulder.

“Sorry, Ovi,” Tom says. “We couldn’t win it.” Tom’s voice is thick, and unspoken goes the rest of that sentence _—“for you.”_ Because as amazing as Ovi is, and for as many awards as he’s won, he still has no Cup. And no one knows that better than the team he leads.

Nate hasn’t cried yet, but he can feel the prickle of threatening tears. Ovi grips harder, and then ruffles Tom’s hair. “We do better next year, yes?”

Nate wants to protest that _this was their year_ , but Ovi already knows that. They _all_ know that. And they know the team won’t look the same next year. Ovi straightens back up with a wince—his knee must be aching, and Nate _knows_ it isn’t fully healed after that Kadri hit _—_ and heads over to curl up with Backy on the loveseat.

Andre turns more into Nate—shifts his legs around to curl under him—and sighs unhappily. Nate brings his left hand up and pets Andre’s curls. He just breathes for a while, feeling his teammates’ warmth on either side, and sinking into the comfort of his team’s presence.

They’re out of the playoffs—and _boy_ does that sting—and there’s nothing more Nate can do about that. What he _can_ do is be here for his team.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Please let me know if there are any mistakes and/or typos, and I'll fix them.


End file.
